Monthly Archives: July 2013

Best Laid

Today, I was meant to receive a delivery of medicine and I was supposed to go to an appointment, after which, I would go to the store to buy the things to make gluten-free bread, and come home. (I’d also meant to get a couple of days of groceries, because I had to get my food stamps card replaced, and they took their sweet time.)

None of that happened.

There was a message I didn’t see from the pharmacy about the delivery, but when I tried to call them, no one at the pharmacy knew what the message had been about, because it had been from the head pharmacist, who was not in, and would not be in until tomorrow.

I need to go there on Thursday; I don’t mind if I need to pick it up in person, but I would like something concrete laid down, because running out of certain medication will be bad, to say the least. I was relying on some of it coming today, but I will survive without it.

I also need to go to the bank, because they are doing their best to avoid replacing my debit card in a simple way.

I had planned to join V at his brother’s house afterward on Thursday to house-sit for the weekend, and bring my bread and a jar of honey, and have a small moment for Freyr, without candles, because they have too many cats.

I may be bringing someone else’s bread, purchased at the store, at this rate, because I either have to choose between going there, or coming back here and baking. I don’t know what would be best. While it’s not an ordinary part of my vocabulary, everything is something of a clusterfuck at the moment.

It was suggested to me to speak to Forseti and Tyr about some of the housing mess; among other things, I was told to focus on my meditation and purifications. Because I am “not blameless in all things.”

Perhaps I should set myself up to collect my Vajrasattva recitations and make that a goal that I can actually coherently work toward that does not depend on anything more than a string of beads or a counting app to do.

Another post about rape

Fugitivus

By the by, I consistently use that title because I mean for it to operate as a trigger warning. I write a lot about rape, but sometimes I write about other things, and I don’t want anybody taken off-guard transitioning from “help computer” into wtf rape-talk. Case you were wondering.

I was re-reading my five billion goddamn posts about rape and force, and I realized (surprise!) there is a more succinct way for me to express what I was thinking. I tend to go on and on, circling a subject, trying to get out everything in my head that possibly relates to it, and then sometimes find I didn’t really address the subject at all. So, here is what I wanted to say in those five billion posts about rape:

If women are raised being told by parents, teachers, media, peers, and all surrounding social strata that:

  • it is not…

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The Demigodspouse Edition

Brand’s parents, both being gods, seems to, according to the sort of genetics we learned in middle school, mean he is also one, but he is profoundly uncomfortable about the idea, and I sometimes refer to him as a demigod to aggravate him. It worked too well, here, for a title to go for the sort of politeness one would expect when discussion my best friend/lover/husband/twin.

I helped with the ceremony for Brand and V., and had my first (in my opinion, extremely awkward, but no one shares my opinion) foray into being a priest for other people.

They were there, very much.

It’s very silence-inducing, at least in the afterward, feeling them so strongly here, in such a way that I am confused by people who do not believe in any form of divine, or other, or at least more than we can know.

Tiny bit of wedding news.

I’ve decided that I would like to have my wedding at the Jefferson Market garden, which is very beautiful, and convenient enough to both the train and a place we like to eat.

I still plan on having a meal at home, with things I’ve made, but this would reduce the amount of things that I felt like I needed to do.

Right now, I’m dealing with severe pain from the weather changing drastically back and forth, and unfortunately not up to writing.

Day 17 Say What Now?

As his son has said many times, Loki loves his children and spouses more than anything else that has ever existed, or will.

Life with Loki

Last night on Facebook I ran across one of the most disrespectful comments about a person and their relationship to their deity I’ve ever seen. It went like this names have been redacted.

  • He has done so much for me. Made me so much stronger of a person. I think that he builds up those that need it, regardless of how one presents themselves to the physical world. It’s not like He builds up an ‘army’ of the weak, He brings us up out of LOVE.
    Even those who do not need to be brought up from the shallows will be embraced. I have always seen Him as LOVE.
    12 hours ago via mobile · Like · 1
  •  Sorry but I have to call bullshit here personally. LOVE? REALLY. Are you sure you haven’t just made over Jesus with a Norse accent? Never read a bigger pile of bullshit in…

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Honey Willow

Another petition for our bees.

He suggested I updated the title and tagline for my blog, though not the url, because that would be too confusing–also I’m unlikely to stop being Shannon Kotono, since the name he is giving me when we are married is going in the middle of my name.

I wondered if one of his suggested updates would be better after we were married, but he said something about technicalities with a hand wave.

As for the title, I was starting to feel odd about the terms his home/our home. Is it presumptuous to say ours, if I spend much of my elsewhere time there? If, I suppose especially, the people there accept me as someone who belongs there and they care for me, and things that belong to me are there (generally clothes, but they’re obviously my clothes)?

He thought the only way to make it something ours was to think of a name that suited both of us somehow. I couldn’t think of much, in part because what I kept thinking of reminded me of a very unpleasant person, which is not fair to us.

I kept coming back to this, however, and he suggested it independently, and so it is.

Rest

Another important bee petition.

I donated some money the other day to a fundraiser, also about bees.

My necklace came last night, and I opened the package enough to find out what was in it, but didn’t look further than glancing at the packing slip. It seems like I should save it for the wedding.  Which is now just slightly over a month away.

After his period of being furious about these recent circumstances, he came back to me and held on to me as if I were in danger of being evicted from him. I needed it. As much as I try to protest that I cannot possibly be important to anyone, let alone a god, further let alone a god that has many more interesting people to pay attention to, we do need each other, somehow, for some reason. I spent most of the intervening time with him, laying together in bed, not really talking, but being close to each other. I do not know how to be in a relationship that requires large amounts of conversation. I need these things. Silence. Closeness. Understanding.

Early this morning, I drew Isa, and just now, when I asked for one from Freyr, I drew Isa again.

There’s so much to do.

But rest, it says. Rest.

And he adds, warm, tender, nearly against my mouth, Rest. What can you do when you have nothing left to give? Rest. Sleep in my arms. The last bit a hovering question without quite necessitating a question mark, but neither an imperative. Something he wants me to do, but I have plenty of room to be uncomfortable about it for myriad reasons and need to not be that physically close to someone, or asleep in front of someone, which is a very vulnerable position, and so on.

But I think about going home and being wrapped in a robe that is somehow softer than silk, done in a shade to complement my eyes, with black trim, similar to my hair. And just laying down in his bed. Such a dense frame. Heavy wood. Deeply carven. A canopy, useful for shutting out the sunlight from the right, where there’s a fair sized window, and collecting the warmth from the fire on the left in cooler seasons.

Having him pass it along without my being aware of it, or before I get there, that we, or I, shouldn’t be disturbed, otherwise lovely, well-meaning people will fuss over me, because I am some sort of darling of theirs. When I can’t handle people. And he always knows when I can’t handle people. Even when I can’t handle spirits and wights.

I do feel very tired. I haven’t slept well since some time in June.

And then: the Eviction

Despite promises and long discussions and other things, our situation went from stable with long-term plans safely in place, to “You have six months to get out” in half a day.

And so, tomorrow, we begin at a frantic pace to try to get housing much sooner than six months because no one feels comfortable in a situation where many, many acquaintances are suddenly showering us with ill will and threats. Because we took V in. Because this deeply violated the boundaries and whatnot and all else of the woman whose house this is. The conversations we had about it, and the rent, and everything else were had while she was “in denial” that we “would ever do something like this to [her].”

I thoroughly cleansed and warded this room last night, and V slept much better, and longer than he had been, and woke up much more peaceful. I’ll keep it up for all of our sakes.

I’ve had a tremendous stress headache today, and people have been over downstairs, including one of the ones threatening us, so we’ve not budged except to creep to the bathroom. This is a fairly rare thing but makes it clear to me that we need to have some nonperishables on hand for the days when we need to avoid all contact with guests and therefore the kitchen until they leave. Thankfully, I suppose, my appetite disappears completely when I’m stressed, and I was the one awake the entire time.

They ordered dinner, and I put in for some safe food for us. Which, despite appetite issues, and being less than fond of some of the ingredients, I devoured it. Thank the gods for a stomach that has its own ideas, I suppose. I’ll make something in a couple of hours that I won’t find so disagreeable and maybe scrape into a not-starving arena of intake.

On Tuesday, we will be able to go shopping. I wonder if some semi-high calorie foods might be good for two of us. Something like nuts, which I can soak so my body will get along with them better, and are entirely good nutrition.

Brand is quiet, somewhat distant, trying to figure a way out of this situation and into something stable and safe sooner than yesterday. But he wrote a long post about Loki and Heimdall and various other things, that some people may find very interesting.

It was heavily recommended by my therapist that I ruthlessly practice shamatha and get the rest of them to do it, too, if we were going to stay anything resembling sane. I have some home study classes popping up that I should listen to, as well. Since Thursday, I haven’t been able to do anything but feel frozen in horror. Friday I did the Confession to the 35 Buddhas, Saturday was spent very frozen, and today has been… the wobbling needle on the richter scale.

My neck hurts in a shamatha-problematic fashion, because it seems to be demanding support beyond what my spine can give it, and I’m a notorious faller-asleeper when meditating propped up in bed. Maybe with my wavering focus and occasional wafts of terror, mantras might work out better.

It’s strange to reach towards one’s god and feel them very annoyed, or possibly angry, on your behalf, and I don’t really know how to react to it.

“Duh, of course he’s protective of you,” Brand says.

But he is withdrawn at the moment and the loneliness sits heavily on me. Likely to avoid potentially triggering me/causing me to feel unsafe, because angry people frighten me on a basic animal level. No matter how much they love me.

Bees and Dreams and Mostly Mundane Food

It isn’t a great surprise that I sign everything that comes up regarding the health and protection of bees. I’ve been doing it for years, though it has an additional level of meaning and importance, now. Please add your name.

I dreamt about a grocery store in which there were local people with small stands selling things from their own gardens inside it, and it was regulated/protected by an ancient Buddhist sect of warriors from some place that I am not certain exists on a map. I keep losing the name of it.

In it, I was a much younger boy, probably eighteen or nineteen at the most, who was there with a girl he had a desperate crush on, and someone who was a type of father figure to him (played by Jeff Bridges in his younger Tron days). The girl was more interested (by far) in the man, but hope springs eternal. I was running through the place at the end looking for mushrooms for her, because she had talked about how much she had liked them, and I was cursing myself for a fool in a myriad of ways for forgetting how much she liked mushrooms, when the woman (who was a witch; we somehow quietly acknowledged that we both knew this) I’d purchased two “pounds” (somehow three ordinary-sized bulbs each?) of garlic from was also selling shiitakes and button mushrooms. But by the time I’d run back there from the check out counter, the people selling things had disappeared and all of their booths were completely gone. I also couldn’t find any in the ordinary produce section, and I was running out of time, because they were both impatiently waiting for me and I was holding up the line (all of this being quite typical of things I would have an incapacitating panic attack over — inconveniencing other people seems to be one of my greatest fears, as sad as that is).

I wanted to spend more time with the garlic and mushroom growing witch-woman. While this was more than likely a stress-induced brain-cleaning dream, she stood out. She was a thin woman with short steel grey hair, glasses, and a face that had done its fair share of frowning at people in its lifetime, but she was not unpleasant to talk to at all. She was a little shorter than me, but I couldn’t tell if I had something like my own height or if I were a different height in the dream, so I’d cautiously put her in the 5’6 ‘average’ height range for white women. She was looking up at me when we spoke.

I think she’d likely had to struggle to be accepted in her community (the one in the dream, if nothing else) and that had caused a great deal of frowning and a mile-wide set of defensive fortifications, with a mix of walls, moats, and razor wire. But I had accepted and respected her, as well as the very high quality and vitality of her produce from the start — there was a woman beside her also selling mushrooms which I barely glanced at. Hers were… sort of limply generic, while the witch-woman’s thrummed with life. I had a feeling that I was getting an extra bulb of garlic in each of the sets of three for free, as well. Perhaps for respecting her and her skills.

I have dreams. Prophetic dreams, and all sorts of dreams. So I cannot help wondering if this were actually someone coming to meet me in an otherwise odd circumstance. If she sounds like someone to you, please let me know in the comments?

I do not comparatively have a lot of contact with female deities and spirits (Auðhelga and Beyla are the only people I see regularly), but I would like to change that.

We seem to have caught colds from the dinner at the restaurant. Impressive immune systems, all around.

My every intention for tomorrow was to buy groceries for us and for them, but I think their meal may be delayed until I have to go out again on Tuesday. Getting groceries for the mostly-human people in the house is very important, whereas I think they will be content with beverage offerings for the time being. There is some atrocious cinnamon schnappes that none of us would drink that Loki is happy with, though I’d love to uncover his cinnamon tea; I’m sure his son would enjoy partaking of it. Freyr likes honey-lemon-ginger tea, which I must partake of and do not mind at all. Odin seems to like coffee, though I don’t know how he takes it. He’s made it rather clear that he doesn’t share, aside from potentially the taste test to ensure it’s all right.

If he takes it sweetened, I don’t know the status of sugar in the house, but honey aplenty and we also have agave (and stevia, though somehow I think this would get some sort of world-shaking No).

As for cream, it’s just almond milk.

I don’t mind keeping a small amount of cream around. We all like whipping cream and it could get used up, especially if we made some minor excuse to procure maraschino cherries (Loki likes them! That’s a reason!). Or we could get soy creamer — Silk made a vanilla kind back in the early 2000s that appeased the coffee snobs around here very, very well, and I’ve still seen it on shelves. We’re not opposed to dairy, but V loves soy in all its permutations and Brand and I are almond milk people. Or at least I am, and he’s discovered his delicious it is.

We hope to begin making soy milk soon and using the leftover okara in various dishes, as its mainly fiber and protein and who couldn’t use more of that? Especially in place of rice in our standard beans with lots of garlic, red pepper, and jalapeno or habanero sauce. The added protein makes it even better for we veggie types (me).

V goes through soy milk at a rapid pace and I’ve read that you can cut down batches from $4-5 at the grocery to $1.50 or less. Plus you can make tofu, which is apparently much more delicious than anything you’ve ever tried, and then there’s the useful okara.

Honey went absolutely everywhere this morning and is still significantly present on the tv table we put this laptop on. There is a place that sells local honey that we brought home two mason jars full of. It’s listed as raw honey, but the jars were very hot when they were brought home, and I wonder if that was too warm for it to be considered raw, still, as it’s kept heated to make it liquid enough to be dispensed easily. It’s the transparent colour of most honeys. I’m used to the pale yellow opaque sort of raw honey.

I think I need to research the entire topic more. The raw honey I buy from the grocery is not local, but paid for with food stamps, which is a benefit. But local honey has its own benefits, particularly toward spring when we have tremendously unpleasant allergies.

I also need to find the time and energy to go to the greenmarket and see what sort of honey they have, these days, since the greenmarket also takes food stamps, and it is summer, and there should be lots of lovely things.